An Innocent Question
by SpicyHumanoidSauce
Summary: Toby has been wondering something about Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett... and when he asks about it, what will the reaction be? Rated T for Helena Bonham Carter's gorgeousness. ONE-SHOT


**Eep! I never thought that I would actually publish something from Sweeney Todd, namely because I don't want to mess with its perfection- but here we are! I hope you like it. The product of an overstressed weekend and a few too many cups of tea.**

"If you don't mind me askin' you, sir-" Toby said through a mouthful of meat pie. His words after that became too thick to understand, so he stopped for a second to chew.

Sweeney Todd smirked. He knew it was sadistic- but whenever he saw the young boy eating Mrs. Lovett's pies with such gusto, it made him want to burst out laughing. The boy was so innocent, and trusting.

They were sat at the now-clean kitchen table, relishing in the absence of roaches of any kind. Sweeney had a tumbler or gin and was staring out the gauzy window, brooding, while Toby tucked into a meat pie.

Sweeney was waiting on Mrs. Lovett, being down to his last clean shirt. The infatuated baker did all the washing, cooking, and cleaning around the house which meant there might be a bit of a delay. However, when he had sat down at the table to think, her little charity case had come running down to sit beside Sweeney.

 _Toby._ The little boy was just as vibrant and filled with life as Mrs. Lovett. Often the demon barber would wonder why he hadn't disposed of him that first day, like Petrelli. But then he'd shake his head and remember that Mrs. Lovett loved him like her own son.

Sweeney hated him.

However, the boy seemed about to ask him a question through his greedy mouthfuls of pie, and he would notice something weird if the barber didn't acknowledge him.

Looking down the stairwell and seeing no sign of the baker, Sweeney took a long pull from his gin just as Toby cleared his throat and asked, "Like I was sayin', sir… is you and Mrs. Lovett- well- courting?"

The young boy's eyes were wide with naivete. He said the last word gingerly, as if he were afraid that his voice would would break something. It nearly did: as his question reached Sweeney's ears, the barber choked on his gin.

"What?!" He exclaimed, eyes wide and black as coal. "What did you say, boy?!"

However, the pale little boy with his shock of dust-colored hair had no need to repeat himself at all, and he knew it. Sweeney Todd attempted to part the curtain of shock hanging over his eyes, but failed, mind wandering to what could possibly make the boy think such a thing. Yes, Mrs. Lovett threw herself at him every chance she got, but he had hardly _returned_ her affections.

Disgust rose in his throat. _Is that what everyone in town thinks?_ Oh, God. What if there was some awful rumor considering him and the lovely baker downstairs?

Toby seemed to know that he had said something wrong. The poor boy tried to elaborate, but only succeeded in surprising Mr. Todd again and again. "I mean, I see how she looks at you, sir, and the only time she's really 'appy is when she's with you, sir, and you're always touchin' her neck or her waist an-"

He paused, looking around frantically for the eccentric baker. His savior was nowhere to be found.

Sweeney couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. A low, cold kind of laughter, that would never have escaped from Benjamin Barker- bless him. It sent a chill up Toby's spine.

Toby breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that he hadn't offended the terrifying barber too badly. For a second, real fear had crept into his brown eyes. The young boy ran his hand through his hair, thinking of Mrs. Lovett and how she'd react if Toby had angered Mr. Todd. She loved the barber, she did, and he had no inkling of why if they weren't courting one another.

"I'll not engage in courting with that woman until the day I die," Sweeney said with relish, examining his gaunt reflection in one of the polished silver razors that he always had secreted away in his pocket.

When he looked up, Toby looked… almost offended. "Well, why not" The boy asked, confused.

Sweeney chuckled again, pocketing the razor, until he realized the boy was serious. His black, tunnel-like eyes went wide. "Are you mad?" He answered the boy with a question of his own. _Where is Mrs. Lovett?_ He asked himself, busying his hands with the gin by taking another drag. _Lazy woman._

As always, something in him screamed at his tattered heap of a soul to have some damned gratitude, but all he could think was that her tardiness with the laundry was forcing him to engage in still more conversation with the pathetic little boy.

Toby drew himself up and glanced out the uncurtained windows. "I'm not mad!" He sputtered indignantly. Sweeney smirked. The boy really was attached to Mrs. Lovett, for better or for worse. "I just think… well, she's awful pretty, ain't she?"

Sweeney stopped dead in the middle of another sip of gin.

It burned his mouth from staying there too long, but he didn't care, letting it struggle down his open throat and vanish into his already-warm stomach.

The thing was, it wasn't surprising, what the boy had said. Toby was starry-eyed for the baker, helping her around the shop with little bows and quick fired responses of 'yes ma'am' and 'please ma'am' and 'thank you ma'am'. What was surprising was when Sweeney opened his mouth to contradict the boy's statement… well, nothing came out.

He tried again, thinking of the baker and how she would laugh at him for even letting Toby get on his nerves. But nothing surfaced in his mind that would serve as an insult to his landlady.

He stroked his chin, feeling the gin settle down inside of him.

Yes, when he thought about it… she wasn't _unattractive_. Nothing compared to Lucy, he reminded himself, narrowing his eyes. But she had a nice enough, heart-shaped face with big, dark doe eyes and those soft, chapped red lips. Her nose was not nearly as hawklike or cutting as some of the English women lurking near the pubs- but rather delicate and pointed.

Sweeney considered it some more, tuning out Toby's questions as to his presence. Mrs. Lovett had worn him down maybe, but her flattering portrait was hard to deny; she _was_ awfully pretty. Somehow, her large heap of crazy, untamed auburn curls, shot through with pins and bands to keep some of it in place, framed her snow-white face all the better. When he was on the subject, her voice wasn't all bad either- she could sing, there was no denying it.

And of course, no man whose heart pumped red blood would object to the low cut of her eccentric dresses, or the shape of her legs as they churned with effort beneath her skirts in the endeavor of motion.

 _What?!_ Disgusted, Sweeney Todd shook himself from the thought like a dog shaking stagnant puddle water from his sleek coat. His eyebrows drew close.

This was Mrs. Lovett, the lively widow who rented out the upper room to him so that she could turn his murder victims into meat pies! Mrs. Lovett, who had always had a fondness for him, even when he was married to Lucy!

A very nasty, sweet voice in the back of his head pushed against his temple, speaking to him softly even as he tried to ignore it: _Mrs. Lovett, who never acted on those feelings out of respect for him and Lucy. Mrs. Lovett, who always had a cheery remark for him when he felt that his razors would be happier embedded in his own skin. Mrs. Lovett who, as he considered the merits of her attractiveness, was doing every bit of washing and cleaning in the house of her own volition_ -

"Mr. Todd?" Toby asked, waving his hand disrespectfully in front of the barber. The dust-haired boy had stood up, his meat pie nothing more than crumbs on the plate, and was trying to bring Sweeney back to the world of the living.

Sweeney shook his head very fast, so fast that he got vertigo, and lunged up from his chair. He had to get out of here. That was the longest line of thought in which Judge Turpin was absent that he had indulged in since Australia. He didn't know what was wrong with him. Oh, Lucy would kill him. Probably rolling around in her grave.

That's when the idea came, an excuse that he was too happy to investigate. Sweeney looked down at the bottle of Mrs. Lovett's gin, and shook it slightly by gripping the neck between his thumb and forefinger. It was empty.

He was drunk, and the thought was such a relief that he laughed aloud. These thoughts weren't his! They were the gin's! They were Toby's!

He could feel Lucy's relief, too. He would never voluntarily be unfaithful to her.

Toby, in the meanwhile, watched a smile fade from Mr. Todd's face, and thought that the cruel barber was acting very strange today. _All because I asked a simple, obvious question!_ He thought indignantly.

Sweeney seemed to have the same thought. He turned to the boy, and shoved him back into the chair with surprising strength considering his stick like limbs, shock of white hair, and hooded, sleepless eyes. "Don't ask me anymore questions," the demon barber snarled through his teeth. Toby winced.

There was a bit of an awkward pause as Mr. Todd suddenly realized that he had a dreamy expression on his face. _Probably from thinking about my Lucy,_ he estimated, looking at Toby so cuttingly that the boy very nearly withered away on the spot.

He was getting ready to leave, therefore exposing the large bloodstain on the back of his shirt, and sending them all to jail, when he heard a noise.

A bustle coming from below, slowly growing with each _thump_ of the stairs.

"Ah," he murmured darkly, repositioning himself in the chair with an inaudible breath of relief.

Toby's eyes brightened sickeningly. He looked so happy whenever the baker showed up, like a puppy greeting its master.

Sweeney Todd was just rolling his eyes when Mrs. Lovett walked gingerly into the room, wearing a tentative expression and carrying an armload of snow-white shirts that spilled against her skin in an unbroken expanse of paleness. Her auburn curls were fire-bright and luminous from the ceaseless rain outside, and her dark eyes were somewhat apologetic.

"I've got them shirts you asked for, Mr. T," she promised, plucking one from the pile and depositing it in his lap.

"You took your sweet time," the barber remarked sharply. Mrs. Lovett rolled her eyes. "Well, I've been busy with runnin' the shop and the like while you lounge around upstairs, love." Her retort was expected, and Sweeney couldn't resist the smile that found its way onto his face.

Suddenly, he remembered why he was so happy to see her, and something happened that hadn't occurred in twenty years: his papery skin went pink at the cheeks, which spilled into his neck.

Blushing. Because of _Mrs. Lovett_.

Mrs. Lovett's mouth fell open, and her sculpted cheekbones went blotchy rose when she followed his eyes right to her own face. However, she ignored it, and Sweeney could have hugged her had he not found the idea repulsive.

"Right, well, get dressed," she ordered him, "while I fold the shirts." The vivacious baker shifted the pile to one arm, and used her free hand to grab the empty bottle of gin. Shaking it, she mumbled, "Cor, you're drinkin' me out o' house an' home!"

Toby smiled brightly at her, and she returned it. "Toby, dear, won't you go downstairs and help the customers? It's been a long day, and me old bones aren't what they used to be."

The filthy urchin's face lit up, and he nodded. "Yes ma'am."

The way he said it… it almost sounded like _mum_. But Sweeney Todd ignored it and waited for him to race out the door and downstairs before he began taking off his shirt. Mrs. Lovett, as always, said nothing, only stared at him with some longing.

Only this time, it was Sweeney who waited until her eyes were directed solely at his laundry to stare at her. Indeed, she wasn't unattractive at all.

Ugh! Why would the thought not leave him?

Mrs. Lovett stepped forward, half a dozen folded shirts set aside on the table. "You alright, Mr. T?" Her thick accent was intoxicating at times like these, commanding the attention of whoever was unfortunate enough to be talking to her.

He frowned at her, baring teeth. "Fine, love."

As always, when he called her that, her eyes fluttered closed, those thick eyelashes tickling her cheekbones. WHy did she have to do that today, when he was in this sort of mood? Sweeney sighed and tugged his shirt over the neglected muscles on his stomach. London had never had nearly as many exercise opportunities as the sailor's life had.

Mrs. Lovett averted her eyes, and busied herself by tossing the gin bottle expertly down into the can that stood in the street below. She shot him a smile when she saw that he had noticed. "Always could throw okay," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Sweeney groaned.

"Alright, what is it?" Mrs. Lovett asked him, hands on her hips. Of course, such a gesture only accentuated the flared skirts and barely necessary corset that laced around her tiny stature like an embrace, and Sweeney looked away from her. His head was all over the place. "Yeh've been even broodier than usual, and on a normal day you'll barely speak to me."

Annoyance shone bright in her wide eyes, and Sweeney Todd rolled his own pair.

"Toby thought we were _courting_ ," he told her, trying to inject as much disgust as possible into his tone so she knew the ground on which she stood. But the baker only gaped.

"Oh. 'E… 'e did?" Mrs. Lovett asked tremblingly, twisting her hands together. "What did you tell 'im?"

Sweeney wanted to laugh at her, but the strangest desire not to hurt her feelings welled up inside him. It was a conscience, something he had never wanted nor cared for, but it was there.

He ignored it. "I told 'im he was mad." His bloodied soul relished the look of disappointment on the lovely baker's face, which quickly forced itself into a normal expression. "Told 'im I'd rather kiss a dog's arse than you."

Mrs. Lovett went bright red with shame.

"Of- o' course," she said with wet eyes, "'E'd be barkin' mad to think we was… like that." She was clearly trying to be casual, but she was shaking, and looked like a beaten dog.

Sweeney didn't tell her, obviously, that the thought of kissing her in this moment didn't seem so bad at all. He wanted to drag this out.

Looking down the stairs to see Toby dutifully serving Mrs. Lovett's demanding customers, he turned back to her and drawled, "He seemed quite off put by my candor, if it helps. Said that _I_ was the mad one. Seemed to think you were too pretty for me."

Mrs. Lovett's bleached-bedsheet skin went even redder, until it resembled a chalky sort of tomato. "Good lad," she murmured, looking away. Sweeney overheard her, and pinked slightly at the face.

Suddenly, that familiar desire crept into his throat, and before he could stop himself, he was striding over to his faithful baker, so close that his cold skin could feel the subtle warmth radiating from hers. She looked back up at him, gasping as she was wont to do, and he could see the whites of her eyes.

Sweeney hated how unpredictable his alter-ego could be. Although… he wasn't sure if it was he or Benjamin that was reaching out to tug at one of the escaped curls that trailed over Mrs. Lovett's shoulders.

It bounced back, and he could vaguely hear himself tell her, "The boy wasn't wrong, Mrs. Lovett."

Those lovely doe eyes were shocked wide. "I-" the baker started, leaning into his closeness… but Sweeney pulled away, disgusted by himself.

Her face fell as she realized that the spell had been broken.

And he strode away, feeling rather proud despite the circumstances, in his clean white shirt, as Mrs. Lovett gawked at him, wondering why he would ever say such a thing and how he had come to believe it.

However, Sweeney had a much more pressing matter at hand: what was wrong with him? Why did his drunken mind keep focusing on Mrs. Lovett's beauty when he had never noticed anything about her before? And how was he going to fix it before he did something even stupider?


End file.
